Francis the Hungry Epicure
by BeyondTheBirthdayParty
Summary: Francis is an epicure, obsessed with eating the finest foods. When you've eaten everything in the world, what's left to enjoy? Battle the insanity within or be consumed. Based off Evil Food Eater Conchita by Mothy. Changed to M for death and cannibalism
1. Chapter 1

In the world there are wishes and desires. Some make their own dreams come true and others pursue. However, it isn't till you reach the end, you discover if it was a dream or a nightmare. Here is the story of Francis Bonnefoy

When he was young, Francis grew up in a noble family. He was raised on the finest foods, living in the family's mansion. Like most noble men in the middle ages, his parents were grooming him to marry a noble girl, have many babies to continue the family legacy, and then to die wealthy. As a child, he wore fabulous clothing, silks, velvet, carefully tailored by a local woman, Elizabeta.

* * *

The table was laden with silverware. Three forks, five spoons, and an exotic assortment of knives sat glistening in front of the young Francis. He nodded politely as each of their uses was explained to him. The fork for the fish, never slurp your soup, and how to eat grapefruit without touching it with your hands.

"The greatest pleasures in this life, good food, wine, and company." His father smiled good naturedly.

He had the first two, but for the the third "good company" he was lacking. He never left the castle and his only fast friends were the maid and butler that worked in the family mansion. A pair of young men, Feliciano and Matthew. Feliciano worked permanently as the family's servant. He began working after his grandfather, their gardener, passed away. With nowhere to stay, Feliciano stayed in the household, smiling as he worked polishing the rooms and sweeping the steps. The only times he would stop smiling were when he was hurt or afraid, or when he was sweeping the front steps. He would just pause in his work and stare out at the road like he was searching for someone.

Matthew was the butler in the house. He was very close to Francis and acted more as a quiet best friend than anything. He would wake Francis up in the morning and dress him, then bring him his carefully prepared breakfast. Matthew was very quiet and didn't talk much, rather the opposite of cheerful Feliciano, but Francis could understand his feelings. He felt brotherly to the two boys, growing up with them.

"Yes Father." Francis replied obediently. He looked at the soup in front of him and frowned. It was a plate of some strange brown liquid with red specks. He played with the silverware in front of him and sipped some of his water, quietly ignoring the strange mixture in front of him. He bit his lip as his father looked up.

"Eat your food." There was a silence as Francis picked up his spoon. His father was the most famed epicure in the world. He had the most discriminating, almost legendary palate. One thing he also had was a raging temper. He had fired cooks at a breakneck pace when they made the roast slightly too brown, a grain too much salt, the wrong shade of red. He also grew furious when somebody didn't enjoy the foods he did.

Francis took a spoonful of the think liquid and, holding his breath, took a bite. He felt like gagging. It was a spice flavourful soup, but it was all wrong. It tasted like toothpaste and fish paste had been ground together and thinned with water. He coughed and spluttered before swallowing the slime. The air in the dining room began to feel thicker. Francis looked across the table to see his father reddening. From over his shoulder, Francis could see Matthew, halfway through the serving door. Pleading with his eyes, he silently begged his friend to stay. Matthew sighed and reluctantly re-entered the room, silently closing the door.

"I'm running short on time son. I have an important meeting in five minutes so please finish your soup." His father looked at his watch impatiently and signaled the butler for another glass of wine. As Matthew ran forward Francis took another sip, closing his eyes as he swallowed quickly. As he ate his father lectured to him.

"Think of the starving townsfolk who would love this soup. Eaten by kings, this is royal food. You are a privileged boy Francis." His father's proud yet stern tone of voice make his palms sweat. "Eat all the food on your plate Francis. Eat it all or you will be punished."

Francis's spoon clinked as it hit the bottom of the bowl. He had long repressed his gag reflex and now was methodically eating. In his haste, he dropped some food on the tablecloth. It went unnoticed to him but a harsh voice soon rang.

"Manners! You're slurping your soup. You are spoiling the silk tablecloth. You are a disgrace. I would expect this from one of the servants but not from you!" His father angrily pushed out his chair and stormed to his son's chair. He pulled Francis from his chair so he stood facing his father. "I'm late for my meeting now. This is absolutely unacceptable behavior. I run this house and you will abide by it's rules!"

Francis's face stung as he was slapped across the face. He looked down at the floor, refusing to meet his father's eyes. He saw his father's feet walk across the floor and out the door, slamming it violently. He felt his eyes start to tear as Matthew ran to his side. Feeling a comforting hand on his back he bit his lip. He could still taste the foul soup in his mouth. Coughing he flung Matthew's hand off his back and ran to the washroom.

He vomited into the toilet. A feeling of repulsion overcame him as he knelt over the toiled, heaving. Tears began to form in his eyes and, wiping his mouth, he walked out into the hallway where Matthew and Feliciano looked up anxiously. There was a determined look in his eyes as he walked to his father's wine cellar.

In hindsight, Francis would say that what he did was stupid, but it didn't matter. His mind was filled with rage. Rage at his father, himself, the cold stone mansion. When he reached the cellar he reached for a bottle of wine, one of the cheaper bottles.

"Matthew." Francis said quietly. "Do you have a corkscrew?"

"Yes." Matthew wrung his hands and looked at the ground. "But Francis, this isn't a good idea!"

Francis merely held out his hand and the screw was placed on. He tore off the cork and drank a long draft from the bottle. Smiling, he turned to face his friends.

"Here, have a drink."

* * *

Two hours later, the trio sat on the cold floor, sprawled out. Matthew was sprawled on the floor, jacket and tie flung on a casket of wine. He felt like he was floating on clouds. Feliciano was humming happily while he blew on an empty bottle making a hollow sort of horn. He giggled, a drunken blush on his face. Francis was sitting, propped against a shelf, bottle in hand ranting angrily.

"I don't get it! He's such a *hic* Bastard!" France spluttered.

"Hehe, well that him. Grandpa used to say that he you could of boiled an egg on his head!" Italy giggled again at the image of the man with egg on his face.

"Don't be so mean. He's just a bitter asshole!" Moaned Matthew from the floor.

"No!" Shouted Francis, swigging from the bottle. "He's been a bloody son of a bitch since mother died!"

"Well what does that make you then?" Matthew slurred

"She even died of food poisoning, hehe! Isn't that ironic!" Feliciano collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"Shut up!" Francis stumbled to his feet, pointing at Feliciano. "That wasn't ironic, that was cruel and sick! It was his fault! His fault she died like that!"

"Hey Francis" Matthew sat up. "Calm down."

"No! I won't calm down because it's not fair! She wasn't supposed to leave like that!" Francis started sobbing and dropped back to the ground, cradling his bottle.

* * *

Like father like son the old saying goes. Francis inherited his mother's look and charm, but his father's pride and temper. These two make a deadly combination, one that would make any person something to be feared. He could be foolish in his youth, but as he grew older he made choices. Becoming obsessive with an Epicurean lifestyle. Everything had to be perfectly pleasing to the mind and body. After all, what good is beauty if it cannot be admired.

* * *

**Author's Miniblog**- I'm going to stop calling this Author's Notes. They're not notes...

This is **Extremely Loosely Based** off the song "Evil Food Eater Conchita by Mothy" Go youtube it, listen, and enjoy.

Anyway- After finishing **"Memories Need Cleaning Too**" and "**50 Feet Up**" *cough* _shameless advertising _*cough* I felt like writing something dark. This should be five or six chapters if everything goes as planned.

This won't be kept on a schedule because life is complicated. I promise to update at least once evert two weeks though. That's the most I can promise this point. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Francis woke up that morning to a gentle knock at the door. He yawned and stretch in bed, sitting up.

"Francis, it is time to awake." Matthew entered the room and bowed respectfully. He walked to the window and opened the red velvet curtains, flooding the lavishly decorated with bright sunlight. Matthew made himself busy picking out the clothes Francis was going to wear.

"You are going to Lord Ivan's birthday party today after lunch. Would this outfit suffice?" Matthew held out a black suit, embroidered on the cuffs in flowers. Francis smiled at how large the suit looked next to Matthew's small frame. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and nodded.

"That looks marvelous, thank you." He looked out the window to admire the scenery.

He wouldn't say he was glad to be going to Ivan's cold home, but they were a noble family. Little did they know, the entire country ridiculed them in extremes. Ivan was a quite large, unsociable, and to be quite honest, strange boy. There were rumors of incest in their family and they hardly ever left the house. One positive thing to be said of them was their garden.

The garden of the Branski family was one filled with bright flowers. Sunflowers, daffodils, roses, every flowers to be found in the kingdom could be seen growing there. In the winter a beautiful display of evergreens could be seen and smelt from far away. It was a sunny day so they would probably hold the party in the garden.

"Actually Matthew, how about a brighter suit?" Francis smiled as Matthew brought him his breakfast. A perfect soft boiled egg and a slice of sourdough bread with strawberry preserve and a cup of Arabian coffee. Deceptively simple looking, but something that he adored. His father's tastes in food were very elaborate and complex dishes. Francis preferred simpler ingredients but they had to be made perfectly. The eggs took exactly three minutes, twenty seven seconds. The toast was made from the exact middle of a seven by five inch loaf. Everything was meticulously prepared.

As Francis ate, Matthew selected a dark blue suit with a red shirt. He smiled, it would make him look very beautiful.

* * *

Francis knocked on the door of the Branski mansion. It was opened by a trembling young boy with blond hair. Francis was confused as to weather he was shivering from cold or from nervousness but as soon as he walked inside, he made up his mind.

The entry hall was made of cold white marble. Candles lit the room and flickered silently, casting shadows all over the place.

"The party is in the garden ." He marveled at the grandeur of the mansion but it was so empty. His boots clicked against the hard stone and it echoed around like the ticking of a clock.

When they reached the outside, a faint smile could be seen on the boy. Reaching to open the door for Francis he spoke.

"Here you go sir. Don't be intimidated by drunken master Ivan and mmph!" He was cut off suddenly as another servant with brown hair shoved a hand over the smaller boy's mouth.

"Haha, he's such a little joker. Enjoy yourself!"

As Francis walked through the door, he was greeted by a warm breeze and the scent of blooming flowers. He saw the tall smiling figure of the birthday boy, Ivan, standing next to his younger sister who had a protective arm on him. Everyone else was milling around the garden chatting to each other, clearly ignoring Ivan.

He wasn't one to ignore others and so he walked up to Ivan.

"Hello there. Happy Birthday." He smiled up at Ivan, trying not to be creeped out by his disconcerting smile.

"Oh hello Francis. It is very nice to meet you today." Ivan looked down at Francis

"Your garden looks lovely." Francis gestured to the sunflowers blooming by the side of the house.

"Oh thank you. I enjoy the sunflowers, they just started blooming today. Natalia doesn't seem to think the same though. She seems to enjoy burning them." Ivan's smile never faded and Francis looked to his sister in surprise.

"I want nothing to come between me and my brother." She huffed angrily, holding tightly to his arm.

"Oh, yes." Francis backed away a slight bit then changed the subject. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Not really. Everyone seems to want to avoid me. I have such a sweet face, why wouldn't people want to play with me?" Francis frowned at the image of people playing with the large Ivan.

"I don't know Ivan." He truthfully answered.

"Well it doesn't matter. I have a friend I can talk with. He says he can give me all the friends I want. Everyone will one day want to become one with me." Ivan smilled at Francis then turned around and started walking into the house.

Francis shivered and looked at the garden again. The sunflowers didn't look so cheery anymore. He could see some of them had singed petals. He wandered over to a table where some food was laid out. Raising an eyebrow, he sampled a cracker with some cheese on it. After chewing he quickly and discretely tossed the remainder into a flowerbed. It was a shame really, a wealthy family couldn't afford decent food. It was no matter though.

He moved to grab a glass of wine. Holding it gingerly between his fingertips he swirled it in it's glass. It looked fine enough a beautiful burgundy. Taking a small sip his lips pursed. If this is what passed for food fit for company in this household, it was no wonder the party was so dull. He looked at the people milling around the garden. How could they devourer such filth!

Francis felt his face grow warmer. This food wouldn't be fit to serve to the peasants. Setting the glass back on the tray, he walked towards the door.

"Francis, leaving so soon?" Ivan smiled, walking over slowly.  
"Yes Ivan. I cannot believe your in-hospitality. How dare you serve such filth to your guests!"

"Oh? That food is gourmet. It's quite a shame. If you wern't such a picky epicure then you'd be able to enjoy it."  
"I am an epicure and it is not a disease. It is a point of pride for me and my family." He felt his anger grow. He was insulting his family history and lifestyle!

"Excuse me Francis, if you are taking offence perhaps you should walk around the flowers, they are quite calming." Francis took no notice as he started shouting, attracting the attention of all who were in the garden.

"No I will not. You are making a mockery of me, of my family, and I will not stand for it. Good day Ivan!" Francis turned on his heel and stormed out of the garden. As he left he heard the whispers of people behind him.

"Just like his father."  
"What a temper."  
"So rude, and on his birthday too!"  
"Ivan, the party is lovely"

Disgusting, absolutely disgusting.

* * *

**Author's Rant?- ** For any of you who've listened to the song "Evil Food Eater Conchita" and know the series of songs it belongs to. This is referencing the next fanfic I'll be doing featuring Russia as the "Duke of Venomania". Youtube it.

Okay, so this is a cool chapter. The actual plot really just starts next chapter which should be uploaded next week. Thanks for sticking with me! -13yond13day


	3. Chapter 3

Francis was now twenty eight years of age. His father had died the previous year much to many peoples sorrow. Many people did not include Francis. He was ecstatic to learn that his father had died while searching for a famed amazon plant that reportedly tasted like nothing on this earth.

As he got older, Francis distanced himself more and more from the noble families and became more concentrated in his work. It had happened that Francis would publish book for and about epicurean pleasures and that would being it a suitable amount of income.

Unfortunately, as time wore on. It had happened that Francis had tried every food known to man. He would write letters to others asking for strange and exotic foods. It had thoroughly frazzled the cook, preparing strange and bizarre recipes to satisfy the young master of the house.

There were strange berries, and animals. A new creature, the camelopard was one of the first to be prepared. Francis had held a dinner party for others to sample the exotic animal. Others had frowned at it's strong flavor but Francis had relished it. The same had happened when he had strange sea creatures imported from all corners of the world.

Under his command, the house was covered in fine paintings and the garden trimmed immaculately. Even the Matthew and Feliciano were commanded to eat the leftover epicurean meals. This had suited the Italian gourmand but Matthew had felt a bit left out.

"I don't see why we have to eat this fancy food all the time. I'd just like a normal sandwich."  
Francis's appetite grew voracious. He could be seen any time of day, at the table, slowly eating his way through a huge pile of dishes. Sometimes others would feel sick watching him slowly consume the strange foods.

It eventually became an obsession for Francis, eating every single food known to man. Eventually it just grew too strange for the other servants in the house. One by one, they all quit leaving only the cook and Francis's two loyal friends. The isolation didn't bother Francis one bit. It left him more time to write and focus on worldly pleasures. He's always wanted to learn an instrument, perhaps the violin.

One dark day, the cook died of old age. He was found in his room, died in his sleep. This led to a mad scramble for Feliciano and Matthew to find a new cook. Francis was hungrier than ever.

* * *

Matthew had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows frantically stirring a huge steaming pot of god knew what. Looking over at the recipe, he added several strange berries and some salt.

Feliciano dashed through the door waving a paper.

"Matthew! I found one, I found a new chef!" He ran over and smelled the soup Matthew was making then wrinkled his nose. "Eww, that smells disgusting!"

"I can't do anything better! Could you make some bread or something to be useful?" He had been cooking for several hours to make a steady supply of food. It was so difficult to keep up with everything at once. His head shot up as a bell was rung from upstairs.

He grabbed a bowl and a spoon, pouring some of the soup and roughly shoving the bowl into the Italian's hands.

"Give it to him, fast!"

Feliciano ran upstairs. When he opened the door he saw Francis there sitting in his chair. There was a large stack of dishes in front of him and Francis smiled when he saw Feliciano enter.

"Ah yes. Thank you. Would you mind clearing the dishes?" Feliciano gulped as he looked at the large stack and cautiously picked them up. He was clumsy as hell but he would at least have to make it outside the dining room.

"Oh, Feliciano!"

"Yes?"

"My compliments to the chef, this tastes wonderful."

As Feliciano left the room he raised an eyebrow. Had Francis lost his palate? It smelled like garbage! Something strange was definitely happening. At least the new cook was coming soon. Then he could make the garden look beautiful again. He missed the flowers and the scent of pine trees.

* * *

Three days later, the new chef arrived. The doorbell ring echoed through the empty house. Matthew ran for the door and, anxiously, showed the new chef in.

"Hello. You must be Arthur." Matthew showed the blond man to the dining room where Francis was eating.

"Yes. It's a pleasure to meet you." He seemed distracted as he walked through the house, gazing at the fine paintings and fabrics.

"The master of the house is quite the epicure. I hope you won't feel too intimidated."

"What? That's a load of bollocks" Arthur spat," My cooking is finest in the world! That's why I took this job in the first place!"

Matthew frowned at his cocky attitude but remained silent as he opened the door to the dining room.

"Francis, the new cook is here." He led Arthur in and stood to the side as the two conversed. Francis stood up from the table and held out his hand.

"Ahh, Arthur. How are you today." He smiled broadly

Arthur took his hand "Quite fine." he said, shaking the hand offered. His eyes widened at the sight of the large stack of dishes and the strange meals sitting at the table.

"Now, I understand you are an esteemed chef. Where have you worked?" Francis ignored the other man's reaction.

"Other households" He answered vaguely. "Would you like me to start cooking right away?"

"But of course! Why don't you cook me your best dish." Francis patted the other man on the back. "Matthew, show this man to the kitchen!"

* * *

Arthur looked through the kitchen in wonder. He couldn't pronounce most of the ingredients in the expansive kitchen. Of course, his own special ingredient he held onto himself. He hadn't worked at just any household. He worked at the Bragnski household. Ivan held quite a grudge and, seeing as the pay wasn't bad, Arthur decided to get the job as assassin.

Fingering the bottle of blue poison in his pocket, Arthur tied on his apron and got to work on his new masterpiece.

He looked through the cupboards and found flour, fish, potatoes, oil and other ingredients. Fish and chips it would be.

As he mixed the batter for the fish, he poured in the bottle of shining blue poison.

"Poison for the poisson. Poison for the poisson." Arthur chanted as he dipped the fish in the batter then laying it in the hot oil.

Later, Arthur carried the platter of fish and chips up the stairs to the dining room. He smiled as he walked into the elaborate dining room. Placing the food on the table he smiled.

"Bon Appetite Francis"

* * *

**Author's Random words- **Okay major thing...I changed this to an M fic. Why? You'll see in the next chapters. It gets to the cannibalism bit and M seemed a bit safer. England is also introduced in this chapter.

"Poison for the poisson" Poisson is french for fish...it's a bad joke but I wanted England to have an evil sounding chant because that's part of his character. Thanks guys! Early update!


	4. Chapter 4

coat. It was so annoying that he couldn't move around. It would be fun to swing around on the seat like on a ride. He started to rock his body back and forth but stopped when he felt a wave of nausea hit him in he head like a hammer.

"I don't feel good!" Gilbert felt sick, hunger was the farthest thing from his mind.

"What's the matter Gilbert?" Gilbert looked over at Matthew. Mildly surprised that he wasn't wearing a lot of clothes for the weather.

"My stomach hurts Matthew!" He leaned back and closed his eyes

"Are you hungry?" He saw Matthew fidget out of the corner of his eye.

"No, I feel like I'm going to be sick! I'm bored!" Gilbert whined he couldn't feel his feet anymore and he swung his legs back and forth making a metallic thunk every couple seconds.

"You know what? When I get off this thing, I'm going to invade America's vital regions...are those in the south? I want to go somewhere warm!"

"It's not always like that here." Matthew spoke softly but Gilbert ignored him continuing to rant.

"I can't feel my feet and I'm bored. I think jumping would be better way to get down!"

"Well perhaps you should go do America if you're so much like him." Matthew muttered sarcastically.

"I don't want to go to America! Don't make me, he's weirder than you are!" Gilbert grabbed onto Matthew's bare hand tightly. Matthew raised his eyebrows at the...compliment? Most people couldn't tell them apart for anything.

* * *

England walked through the hallways of his house quickly buttoning up his shirt.

"Alfred, Alfred you git where are you?" Opening the doors in the hallway leading into spare rooms, closets, Arthur systematiclly looked through the house for America. Doing up his tie he started to pick up his pace.

"Alfred Jones! If you are not in front of me by the count of ten you are grounded!"

Startled by the noise, Matthew peaked his head out of his room. Alfred was getting in trouble again. He tried to duck his head back though when he saw his guardian walk towards him.

"Alfred!" Arthur grabbed Matthew's arm and pulled him out into the hallway. "I have been looking for you for an hour. Put on your suit, we're going out and I will not tolerate being seen with you when you look like some young hooligan. "

"But" Matthew looked around the hall as he was dragged towards the door. He saw a curl of blond hair peeking out from under the couch and he started to protest.

"Don't mumble now." Arthur looked at his watch. "Bloody hell we're already late. Come Alfred, I'll get you a haircut when we get there."

Matthew paled at the thought of cutting his hair off. He was shoved into a carriage and they were off, jolting down the road. Arthur was solely focused on the paper in front of him. Matthew fidgeted nervously in his seat Kumahiro was still in his room and what if he wasn't fed?

"Where are we going?"Matthew looked out the window to see that they were approaching a barbers.

"Getting that mop of hair cut, then we're going to a play so you can get more culture. Shakespeare should do just fine."

Matthew was hustled inside the shop and pushed into a chair. He looked around nervously as a barber came close to him wielding a large pair of scissors. His hair was grabbed by large hands and lifted from his head.

"Ahh, look at these golden locks I'll give you a discount if I may keep the hair, pity these days with all the old men going bald." The barber leered at Matthew while Arthur continued reading his newspaper.

"Very well."

Matthew closed his eyes as he heard the metallic snip of scissors next to his ear. He instead listened to the rustling of paper, his shaky breathing, the sound of carriages rattling down the street. When he opened his eyes, a mirror was held in front of his face. His hair had been shorn away so it resembled England's haircut more than it did his own. Matthew's eyes grew wide and he slid out of the chair, walking towards the door. England followed afterward.

"See, that looks much better. It's very sensible."

Matthew looked at the ground. He wanted to speak up and say that he wasn't America, he was his own person and England couldn't' boss him around anymore.

"England!" Matthew stopped and starred at England angrily.

"Huh? What was that Alfred?" England turned around annoyed.

"I'm not Alfred!" Matthew balled his fists at his side.

"What? Who are you then, are you some sort of street rat? I swear, if Alfred made you come instead of him I will tan both your hides." England grabbed Matthew's Wrist and, turning around, headed back to the house.

"No, I'm Canada!"

* * *

When they had gotten back home, Matthew had returned to invisibility with the sole problem, he was now the identical twin of Alfred. Not that his brother noticed, he was just jumpy since he thought that a ghost was inhabiting England's house. When this was heard by England, his honour was insulted and so he went to 'purge' the house. Matthew was convinced that after being doused with numerous potions and being shouted at, he was the strangest country on the face of the world.

"You don't think I'm weird?" Matthew turned to Gilbert.

"Course not, I know weird and you are not stranger than some. You could be more awesome like me, but no." Gilbert released Matthew's hand and closed his eyes

"Wow thanks, it gets kinda depressing when people mistake me for America." Matthew shoved his hand back in the pocket of his hoodie, opening and closing his numbed fingers.

"No..." Gilbert fixed Matthew with a stare. "I am merely freezing my ass of on this chair. If I were Texas, I might not be so cold. I could get a sunburn."

Matthew laughed, "If you did I'd have to get a picture."

* * *

Author's Note- Oh God I'm so sorry! I'm a week late, and the chapter is extremely random. Hang on and I'll get back to cannon and a regular schedule.

Also, when you're skiing/snowboarding you can work up quite a sweat so some people dress light. However, the minute you stop moving you get really cold again.

P.S. Happy Halloween


	5. Chapter 5

Feliciano wiped the sweat off his forehead as he entered the house. The garden was now completely spotless. It was getting harder with fall rolling around. Trying to keep up with all of those leaves was nearly impossible.

"Wow, I wonder what's for dinner?" He hung up his gardening tools then sniffed the air curiously. It was coming from the kitchen. It smelled rich and hearty, was Arthur making stew?

He was surprised to see Francis at the stove, chopping knife and vegetables out on a cutting board. Looking over, he could see meat browning in a large pot on the stove. Francis's hair was neatly tied back and he was whistling while he cut the carrots into small pieces.

"Hey Francis, I didn't know you cooked." Italy ran over and smelled the air deeply

"Yes, I should know how my food is prepared. Is Matthew still running groceries?"He dumped the vegetables in the meat, giving it a stir.

"He's still out." Feliciano looked around distractedly. "Where did Arthur go. He said he'd give me some of his cake."

Francis looked up sharply. "Did you eat any?"

"Just a flower on the icing. It tasted so sweet!" He drooled happily, staring into space.

"Well this stew should taste just as good. Arthur got sick, something he ate. He should be back in a week, but until then I'll cook." He looked at the cookbook again and stirred the pot. Just another thirty minutes and they'd have lamb stew. Well, it wasn't lamb but it should taste just as good.

They all ate together that night. They all dug eagerly into the delicious stew. Francis took this as a meal of discovery. It was fatty and had a certain taste to it. Indescribable but he felt some sort of pleasure enjoying his meal. After they were finished Matthew and Feliciano both congratulated Francis on such a wonderful meal.

The next day, Francis felt restless. He longed for excitment like he's felt last night. The moment where he cut Arthur's coat, the feel of warm delicious blood flowing over his hands, the feel of the knife cutting through flesh, expertly cutting through muscle and fat. Turning a living human into pieces of lifeless flesh.

To try and calm his head, he try doing some writing, all that came out was the feeling of desperation and anger that seemed to radiate from his very being. He told himself to stay calm, what was he worried about? He'd cleaned the dining room, the bones of Arthur Kirkland were buried under the stairs in the basement. The floor was made of soft earth there, they wouldn't be discovered.

As he mulled over matters in the library, Matthew entered the room.

"Francis, it's urgent." Matthew apprehensively opened the door.

"Yes Matthew? Please tell me some good news." Francis sighed

"I'm afraid non. To be honest, the family is running out of money." Matthew walked over to the desk

"How is that possible." Francis ran his hand over his chin

"Some of the foods and clothing you have been ordering are...outside our price range." Matthew rubbed his hands together.

"What do you suppose we do?" Francis asked in a dangerously calm tone.

"That's up for you to decide. I'm sorry Francis but you don't have the funds to continue the way you are now." Matthew left the room quickly.

So that was it? He would have to stop eating so finely? No, that wasn't true at all. He would find a way, perhaps publish another book, or pawn some of his mother's old jewelry. It wasn't like he would settle down with a girl any time soon.

He decided to go to the garden to get a bit of rest. Moving into the garden, he sat on a wooden bench and opened his book. The cool breeze ruffled his hair and, taking a deep breath he felt himself starting to relax. The trees rustled softly and the scent of nature swirled around him.

Francis's reading was interrupted by a high pitched whistling. He picked up his head to see Feliciano with his gardening gloves on. He was bent over the flowers, pulling out weeds and putting them in a cloth bag. Francis looked back down on his book but looked back up again.

From over the top of his book he saw the Italian working around the garden. He watched in rapt attention as he bent over to reach for the shovel, saw the beads of sweat on the back of his neck as he dug into the tough earth, the flex of his muscles as he pushed the shovel. What would it be like for that warm precious blood to seep through that blue shirt or to have his muscled flesh underneath his incisors.

He frowned, that sort of thinking was useless. Feliciano was his best friend and they felt like brothers. It was completely ridiculous to want to sink his teeth into his best friend. It was wrong to want to see if Feliciano was sweet like his nature. Why would he even dare to visualize his friend laying on the ground covered in his own blood. Money was short, and he would not have to pay Feliciano, he'd also get enough food for at least a week. He wasn't crazy though. It wasn't desperate...yet.

That night, they ate the leftovers of the stew. Matthew looked at Francis. His face was redder than usual and he was looking around nervously. It looked like he was coming down with a fever.

"Francis, are you feeling okay?"Matthew leaned over the table and looked at Francis concernedly.

"I'm fine, just worrying." Probably about the money Matthew thought. "Why don't you go to bed early. I'll try and think of something."

"Mmm" Francis walked out the door.

"Feliciano, I don't know what's up with him." Matthew frowned

"Well he seems fine, he's just stressed. I'll give him more wine tomorrow!" The Italian smiled. "I'll give myself more too."

"I don't think that's the answer." Matthew picked up the dishes and headed towards the kitchen doors.

As Matthew and Feliciano cleared the dishes they didn't notice Francis's lingering gaze on their backs. The predatory hungry stare that threatened death,

* * *

Author's Blargh- So this is a bit confusing? Ouch...pm or comment and I'll fix things.

This story is halfway through...I'm starting to think that the M rating doesn't quite fit but if so, I'll make it fit!


	6. Chapter 6

Matthew opened the front door, hanging his coat on a hook he looked around the house. He looked around, everything was clean as he had left it. It was a fair walk to go mail Francis's letters and so his fingers were quite cold. He blew on them as he walked through the house, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He looked in the dining room but it was empty.

He walked to the kitchen but it was also completely bare, He looked around, confused. He had just turned around and ran smack into Francis.

"Oh Francis, there you are. I mailed your letters." Matthew smilled at Francis.

"Thank you Matthew." Francis seemed distracted. "Why don't you take a rest, it's a long walk to the town."

"Oh, thank you." Matthew walked to his room. He was tired and he deserved a little rest, right?

Francis held his bloodied hands behind his back, smiling as he watched Matthew go upstairs.

* * *

"Hey Feliciano, how do you feel about a drink?" Francis smiled and held out a wine bottle.

"Ohh yay! That sounds like so much fun." Italy grabbed a wine glass.

Minutes later, they were sitting in the garden drinking the fine wine. Francis fingered the sharp knife that sat in the small of his back. Feliciano was freely drinking wine. Soon he was tipsy and sighing happily.

"You know Francis, I was getting worried. You seemed so stressed and distant! I'm glad you're feeling better!" he took another long gulp of wine.

"Oh I'm fine, but you know Feliciano, I love you." Francis looked down sadly. It wasn't too late, was it? He could still turn back and everything could continue.

"I love you too Francis. I know I'm drunk but you're the best friend I've ever had!" Feliciano leaned over sloppily and gave Francis a big hug, his hand nearly touching the concealed knife.

Francis froze, feeling the other's body against his. He could do it now, stab him, end it right now. Kill him, stab him, plunge the knife into his heart! do it, Do It, DO IT, DO IT NOW!

Feliciano slumped down against Francis's chest, drunkenly asleep. He felt sick at about what he was going to do, was he stalling or was this a no? His mind was screaming no but... He took out his knife and nicked his friends finger. He pulled out Feliciano's finger and watched as the blood dripped slowly into his empty wine glass.

He waited till the cup was half full of the deep red liquid. His hand shook and he closed his eyes, bringing the goblet to his lips. He took a small cautious sip. The salty liquid flowed into his mouth and burned his throat as it went down. He felt his stomach heave but he held it down. When he opened his eyes, he was filled with energy.

He moved towards the sleeping Feliciano and brought up his knife. Downing the rest of the blood like a shot, he deftly slit his friend's throat. The blood flowed over his sleeping form which Francis caught in his wine glass. He drank deeply, becoming intoxicated by it's strong flavour.

Feliciano's eyes shot open for one brief moment and for that second, Francis paused. Then the brown eyes closed and Francis resumed his bloody feast. As the blood slowed, Francis lazily drank from his glass. Sitting in the garden in the company of friends and good drink truly was one of life's greater pleasures.

Getting up, Francis moved Feliciano's body to the kitchen. He placed it on the cold ground while he went to work in the garden. He took the shovel and turned the soil so the blood was buried under the clean earth. Then he went to the kitchen, perhaps he would prepare a meat pie. Taking up his knife, he got to work.

* * *

When he got back downstairs, Francis washed his hands thoroughly. Heating up the oven, he placed the stored pies in the oven. The Italian's blood tasted beautiful and hopefully so would his flesh. He smiled sadly, how would he explain Feliciano's disappearance to his dear Matthew. Another question, how to tell Matthew that he was next.

Francis mixed lettus in a bowl for salad and thought for a moment. He would just come out and say it, but they had enough food for now. His turn would come later.

Later at dinner Matthew asked the fated question.

"Where's Feliciano?" He ate his pie with relish and Francis smiled at the irony.

"He left, he had an argument." Francis looked down at his plate.

"He what?" Matthew looked up startled.

"I was...being stupid and I offended him. I'd rather not talk about it." Francis continued eating, taking big bites of the pie.

"But- will he come back?" Matthew was gripped with worry, how would Feliciano manage?

"I hope so..."

"What do you mean? Why would you push your friends away from you?"

"Friends?" Francis asked disinterestedly

"Yes Francis, I don't know what's the matter right now, but I'm here for you!"

There was a silence. Matthew was angry, why would Francis drive away his friend for his own reasons he couldn't say? Francis was silent because he couldn't say any more. He wouldn't come back, but Matthew would be gone before he could find out. Francis wondered, what would Matthew taste like?

* * *

BLARGH- yeah, that's my language for author's note. I'm very happy that I got this next chapter done on time. Thanks for the reviews everyone.


	7. Chapter 7

A week slowly passed by. Food grew scarcer, tensions grew higher. The house was creepily silent and at night, the only sounds were the muffled sounds of the outdoors. The sounds of wind and wild life. Francis would look out the window at the garden, The trees were all shades of yellow red and the flowers were brown. It would be frost soon. It was a shame nobody was working to make it beautiful.

Francis and Matthew were more distant now. They were colder to each other, less like friends and more like master and servant. One thing that took place in Francis's mind was a form of tug-a-war.

Blood, deep beautiful red liquid, warm like life dripping though his fingers. His best friend, by his side always. Kill again, you enjoyed it. Loyalty, did you remember how you felt when you said you loved him? Then your knife sliced through his throat. It was disgusting. The feel of nausea. Delicious meat, taste of discovery. So beautiful and enjoyable. He's such a good friend He'd want it this way. He has my best interests at heart so I should DEVOURER HIM.

Afterwards he would take a walk, look around. One day however, he decided to get the whole thing over with. Matthew was special though. He would tell him the truth, it was the right thing. Francis went to his bedside table and grabbed his familiar knife. Wiping it on a cloth, he tucked in in his belt. Time to come clean.

* * *

Francis knocked then opened the door to Matthew's room.

"Matthew, I have to talk to you." Matthew was sitting on his bed reading a book, he looked up over his glasses and sat up straighter.

"Sure thing Francis. Why don't you come in?" Francis moved from the door, closing it and moving to sit on a chair near the bed. He took a deep breath.

"Feliciano and I never had a fight."Matthew looked at him, puzzled.

Cautiously he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean." Francis shifted in his chair. "I killed him."

"Hehe," Matthew laughed nervously, "You've really lost your taste in jokes huh Francis."

"Perhaps I have. Did you like the food I've been cooking recently?" Francis shifted his chair a little, so he was in between Matthew and the door.

"So you were joking? Why would your food have...anything...to..." Matthew trailed off, eyes widening in horror.

"Delicious wasn't it? I, I just didn't know. Arthur was an accident really!" Francis put his head in his hands.

"You killed him." Matthew intoned

"I wasn't thinking when I cooked him!" A lie.

"We ate his flesh." He droned in shock

"Then Feliciano!" Francis moaned in anguish

"You're a murderer. You're a god damned murderer! And then...then you cooked. Oh my god I ate my best friend!" Matthew leaned over the edge of the bed and threw up into the garbage bin by the bed. He heaved his stomach into the bucket then started hyperventilating.

Francis watched, seemingly calm. He reached an arm to tough Matthew's back.

"Don't touch me!" Matthew back up against the wall. "You, you're going to kill me!"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you!" Francis was weeping openly as he reached behind him, pulling out his knife.

Matthew's eyes watered then teared. "You're just going to kill me then?" His eyes darted around the room, but he was trapped.

"Yes. I am. Then I'll eat your flesh."

"You're a monster!" Matthew was screaming in desperation. His breath came in short pants. His throat felt tight. His eyes focused on the glittering edge of the knife.

"Matthew, calm down. I'll make this painless." Francis was now pleading with Matthew. He steadily walked forward.

"You bastard! You're a monster! Just go away!" Matthew raised an arm over his face as he collapsed to the ground in fear. Francis now stood in front of him. His shadow darkening Matthew's fearful expression.

"Shhh" Francis took his arms and grabbed Matthew in a tight embrace. Matthew yelled and pushed against Francis' chest in a desperate effort to get free. "Matthew, don't move please." Tears rolled down his cheeks, falling on Matthew's clean shirt.

"I want to remember this moment." Matthew stiffened as he felt the point of the knife tough his back. His breath grew faster, his vision blurred. He knew it was too late. He was going to die.

"I don't hate you."

Francis felt a familiar warm splash of liquid cover his arms. He grabbed Matthew's body tighter, squeezing the still warm shell of his best friend. He carried the body to the bed and laid it down lightly on the covers. He brushed the stray hairs out of it's face and looed down sadly on the face, eyes closed, he could have just been sleeping if not for the reddening sheets beneath him.

He didn't feel hungry as he looked at his friend. He felt like his appetite would never return, it struck him then that Matthew and Feliciano would never come back. They wouldn't be there with their smiles and laughter. It was just him now. A lonely epicure living in an empty house. He wiped the tears from his face and bent over the body. He would come back once the body was colder, you couldn't just leave good meat out in the air to rot.

* * *

Author's Shoop Doop Da Woop- I'M A FIRING MA LAZORZ BLARGH!

Okay, now that that's over with... Last chapter coming next. I was a bit iffy about the ending of this chapter but I've decided that I like it. I hope you do as well.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been two weeks. Two weeks where Francis had isolated himself inside his room. He felt no remorse, not anymore. He'd never bothered to change his cloths from that day. That day when he'd killed Matthew.

His fine lace sleeves were caked in old dried blood, His hands were a dirty brown. The front of his shirt hung dirty on his front, occasional black splatters marring the creamy fabric. His hair hung limp on his head hanging down over his crazed eyes. He couldn't feel anything, nothing but hunger.

Hunger? Hunger for something new. What else was there for him to enjoy now that he had tried everything in the world? He's sat in his room for days thinking about it but finally he left his room.

He wandered like he was possessed, going through the halls passing Feliciano's empty room. The door was open slightly and Francis looked in almost expecting Feliciano to be inside. Matthew's door was closed, it was too messy for it to be seen. Flies and blood coated the room like new paint. There was a faint smell and Francis averted his head from the closed door.

Wandering to the kitchen he looked through the shelves. There was nothing there. The entire house was empty as a tomb, fitting for such an occasion. His boots made a tapping which echoed through the halls. He looked around and sighed, looking out at the cold dead landscape.

In between fall and winter, a time of cold and brown. Suddenly, something caught his eye. His reflection looked back at him from the mirror. His blue eyes met his own blue eyes again. He looked over himself, a beautiful specimen indeed. He looked at his hand and stared for a moment, mesmerized.

"Hello Francis how are you today?" He spoke to himself

"I'm good, why thank you Francis." He gripped his right wrist with his left hand, looking at it like a life preserver. He smiled and giggled.

"You're so beautiful."

"Why, I know that. Beautiful inside and out."

"Inside? Why don't you let me see?"

"Why of course Francis! One question though, how will you do that?"

"I will eat you!" A shrill laugh burst forth from Francis's lips. "I'm going to eat you up!"

"Not if I do first!"  
He whipped his head around wildly, the hall was empty. He brought his hand to his lips and licked one of his fingers cautiously. His eyes were filled with madness as he brought his finger entirely into his mouth, bitting down hard so that his blood filled his mouth. He felt only a slight twang of pain.

He smiled biting down harder feeling the finger tear. He smiled crazed, filled with fear and excitement.

This was the last thing! His last meal for there was nothing left to eat in the world, the ultimate delicacy is the body which has eaten everything in the world.

"And no other will taste it! Hahaha!" He cried through his full mouthful.

All he could feel was an exuberance, his stomach being filled by delicious food once again. The warm blood covering his body like a refreshing shower. Eat it,eat it all! He felt complete, warm, this was the ultimate pleasure. He suddenly felt tired, but he continued to gorge himself. He had to eat it all. Remember the words of his famed father. To eat what's given to you and eat everything.

He felt his eyes close and he sighed in contentment. What a beautiful last meal. Shame about the mess though, he'd have to get someone to clean that up for him...

The door of the mansion was knocked down.

"Francis!" Alfred stormed through the house. "Where the hell are you, you french bastard?"

He'd been trying to get in contact with Matthew for a month but no reply had come. He'd take matters into his own hands, he was the hero after all. Walking through the halls he looked in the rooms. There was one bedroom, and there was one with the door closed. He knocked cautiously. It was strange,nobody seemed to be home.

When he opened the door a powerful smell nearly knocked him over. He saw...black. Black paint, why was there black...paint...all over the...

Blood.

Blood on the walls. Holding his breath Alfred walked in, hand on his pistol. He saw a rotting corpse lying splayed on the bed, bloodied blond hair and glasses askew.

"Fuck."

Alfred backed out of the room, scrambling over his own feet. Slamming the door he threw up on the carpet. His chest heaved as he leaned over the wall. The body was mangled, only the head had remained unmolested by whatever had killed him. He wanted to leave, the house smelled of death...but he was the hero.

He kept walking, gun in hand now. Then, as he turned the corner he saw Francis. His body was also bloody, dripping from his front. His body had places where the flesh looked gouged out. He had a smile on his decayed and bloody face

Alfred didn't move. There was something evil in that house and he was getting the hell out of there. When he left he sat in the cold air. It struck his bare face and stung but he welcomed it. Whatever had happened, it was the work of the devil. Alfred got a flint from his pocket and shakily lit a nearby branch on fire. He smashed one of the windows of the front with a rock. Throwing the burning branch through the window, he sank to the earth. Alfred sat and watched the flames reflect on the glass, growing and licking hungrily at the house. As the house was consumed by fire, Alfred walked away.

The meal was now over.

* * *

Author's note- Sorry for the late update. I just lost it...this chapter fought me like crazy to write it. Now the story is over, I'll see all of you later on Fanfiction!


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